


An Imagine Loki - At the Gym

by Tomstinkerbell



Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Curvy Girl, F/M, Fluffier than she wants to be, Gym, Martial Arts, Mention of spanking, Routine, Self-Conscious, distracted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: Curvy Girl, Fluffier Than She Wants To Be, Gym, Self-Conscious, Martial Arts, Routine, Distracted





	An Imagine Loki - At the Gym

**Author's Note:**

> Curvy Girl, Fluffier Than She Wants To Be, Gym, Self-Conscious, Martial Arts, Routine, Distracted

Imagine you’re working out in the gym in Avengers Tower.

 

It’s very early in the morning – you always go really early because you’re self-conscious about your body.  You’re much fluffier than you’d like to be, and you don’t want to hit the gym with everyone else who’s so cut it hurts to look at them.  You’re doing what everyone else would think was a pretty easy routine of a little stretching, some yoga, light weights and – what has become over a couple of months – a long, relatively well-paced walk on the treadmill. 

 

You’re not necessarily trying to lose weight – although it’s been happening steadily since you started anyway – you’re just trying to feel better physically.

 

But this morning was one of those mornings when your motivation had entirely deserted you.  You had to force yourself to get up.  You didn’t bother to even turn on the lights in your room as you dressed – grabbing the only clean pair of workout pants and top that were available in the very back of the dresser drawer - applied a brush to your teeth and swiped one haphazardly through your hair, then heading down in the elevator, your eyes still mainly closed and yawning every two  minutes.

 

You were alone originally, but then _he_ came in - _the_ person you’d really least like to see at any time, much less when you’re sweaty and already feeling vulnerable and insecure enough just being in the gym, tyvm.

 

Loki’s been in here before with you – occasionally – and neither of you really even acknowledges the other, which is more than fine by you.  You have such a hard crush on him that you think you’d probably just drop dead in front of him if he ever so much as spoke to you. 

 

Regardless of the fact that he’s ignoring you, his presence still makes it damned near impossible for you to concentrate on what you’re supposed to be doing - or even the motivating playlist you’re no longer listening to - especially when he eventually loses his shirt and is just wearing a pair of soft black pants, the waistband of which is sitting obscenely low on his hips, making you want to watch him just to see whether or not it continues to manage to cling to him . . .

 

He also started out with yoga – although a much more advanced version of it than you think you’ll ever reach.  From there, he went to weights, then martial arts moves that draw your eyes to him involuntarily.  He moves with such surety, so gracefully and with so much power . . . Your eyes are drawn helplessly to every long, lean inch of him.

 

Ruthlessly forcing yourself to focus on your own routine, you finish out the weight sets you were working on then hop onto a treadmill – deliberately choosing one that faces away from him, forgetting about the wall to wall, floor to ceiling mirrors that are your nemesis – and that now also feature not only a wholly unflattering image of you huffing and puffing but contrasting that with the physical perfection of his form as he works out behind you.

 

He’s so distracting that you finally just give up – long before you’ve finished your walk, turning off the machine, wiping it off and leaving, keeping your head down, just wanting to get out of there as quickly as you can.

 

You’ve just made it back to the safety of your room when you hear a soft knock.

 

Everything in you seizes with nerves.  Jesus Christ, it _couldn’t_ be him, could it?

 

Of _course_ it could. 

 

You can barely breathe when you open the door and see him up close – he’s less than two feet from you and potent as hell.  And he looks even better than he did in the gym – if that’s possible – not sweaty or mussed up in any way at all.  In fact, he’s wearing a beautiful black dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of black dress pants that fit him disconcertingly well. 

 

Knowing you look as rough as you feel, your eyes meet his only for a fleeting second – then land back on your bare feet - as you ask, “Can I help you?”

 

He looks impish, as if he’s having a hard time suppressing a smile.  “Yes, I believe you can.  I would like to volunteer.”

 

You frown up at him, having absolutely no idea what the hell it is that he’s talking about.  “Uhhhh, for what?”

 

“Well, I thought I would take you up on your offer.”

 

If there’s one thing you hate, it’s being made to look like an idiot, so your back is immediately up.  “I have no idea to what you’re referring,” you inform him stiffly.

 

With that, he reaches out, puts his hands on your shoulders and – surprisingly gently – turns you around, pointing to your butt.  “I am here to take you up on your invitation.”

 

Suddenly, as you crane your head around – as if you’re going to actually be able to see what he’s pointing to - the mortifying realization dawns on you that you’re wearing a pair of sweats that a friend – who knows your preferences - had given you as a joke gift.

 

And, scrawled across your still too generous, pink jersey covered behind were the words, “SPANK ME!” in bright red.

 

“Fuck.  Me,” you whisper hoarsely, hand over your mouth, barely able to speak for the embarrassment that’s overcome you.

 

Loki, of course, just stands there, chuckling irreverently at first, but then saying, in a low, intimate tone, “Well, that would rather depend on how well you take your spanking, little one.”


End file.
